


Hedonism: A Treatise by A. Z. Fell

by D20Owlbear



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: And every so often Crowley's lucky enough to catch him like that, Aziraphale Has No Genitalia (Good Omens), Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale also fucking loves being Seen To and all the Earthly Delights, Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Every so often Aziraphale just goes Full Feral and lays in bed with chocolate and other aphrodisiacs, Hedonistic bastard, Just all that requited love up in this, M/M, No pine scents here thank you, Not gonna lie it's definitely not Crowley who's controlling this encounter, Other, Pillow Principality Aziraphale (Good Omens), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Power Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Rated E for Aziraphale both consuming and being a snacc, Service Top Crowley (Good Omens), That's it, There's a lot of words in here for just fucking tbh, that's the plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23689714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/D20Owlbear/pseuds/D20Owlbear
Summary: Aziraphale sometimes just likes to lay back, read a good book by firelight, and eat as many decadent things as he likes.Aziraphale is, also, a hedonist at heart. Crowley approves.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 194
Collections: Just Enough Of A Bastard to be Worth Knowing Biblically





	Hedonism: A Treatise by A. Z. Fell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheOldAquarian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOldAquarian/gifts).



> Haha, double posting because I'm a FOOL, but here we are. 
> 
> Pseudo prompt from a discord server I went feral over, thank's Aquarian!  
> "cherry dark chocolate sounds like the kind of thing Aziraphale would eat in bed at 4 am while 700 pages into a 1,000-page book like wings out full ferality"
> 
> And thank you very much to [meinposhbastard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinposhbastard) who beta'd for me like a champ (and who's hilarious comments I stole from for a couple footnotes).

The end of the world had come and gone, over a year ago at that, and not much had changed. True, the seasons had, the millennium had turned once more, and neither Heaven nor Hell was breathing down his and Crowley’s backs. Other than that, though, not much had changed.

December had been rung in and as per Aziraphale’s usual winter solstice tradition, he had a jug of wine on hand, a large tome of a book in hand, and was settled comfortably on his bed surrounded by a feather-filled down duvet while a very satisfying fire crackled merrily in the hearth. The fire warmed his sock-clad feet[1] and he wriggled up against the solid cherry-wood headboard until he was properly situated between plush pillows, soft flannel sheets, and thick angel-down duvet. 

Aziraphale poured himself his first glass of wine for the night, and opened with his free hand the book  _ Shōgun, _ by James Clavell. A rather new book to his collection, having only been published in the 70s, but it came highly recommended, and he had such fond memories of popping into feudal Japan during the 1600s…

* * *

[1] His socks were a little holey and not at all holy, but one of his pairs that were knitted with love by some of the older queens and community in Soho as a gift for often being in the Right Place at the Right Time to lend a hand. So they were quite warm indeed.

* * *

Snow began falling outside, gently drifting to the ground, and the streets cleared as it grew later and later in the evening until no one was outside on Soho streets by the time the clock struck 6. Odd for Soho, which boasted a virile and throbbing nightlife, though tonight seemed to be too cold or too sedate, or perhaps too weekday too close to Christmas, to want to walk in the snow rather than curl up in the warmth of indoors and drift happily to sleep.

Aziraphale, of course, had nothing to do with this. Not on purpose, at least, but his pleasant and good mood must have infected quite a large area and covered nearly all of Soho with the blissful lethargy of a cold winter night best enjoyed as an impartial observer. While he read he drank wine thick with mulling spices and the Ideal Temperature™ at all times and merrily hummed an old harper’s song he’d last heard long ago in Egypt, but which had stuck with him in his heart.[2]

* * *

[2] Interested parties can view [the lyrics to the song](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hedonism#Ancient_Egypt) here.

* * *

Evening passed peacefully into night and the fire at his feet warmed the room so well that it was impossible to be anything but extravagantly comfortable. The juxtaposition between the cold radiating from the window to his left and the fire felt like sitting in the eye of his own perfect storm as he delicately ate fruits drizzled with honey and sipped his wine.

The sumptuous spread of honeyed figs and pomegranate jewels paired intoxicatingly with richly bitter cacao nibs. He nibbled as he read and drank through his wine until he was left with only the dark chocolate and cherry truffles. Though the novel was a delight, and truly something riveting, Aziraphale couldn’t help but luxuriate in the taste of the wine lingering on his tongue as a cherry soaked in dark rum burst around his teeth as he bit into the cocoa-dusted ganache. 

He sighed into the stillness of the night and closed his eyes to lean into the  _ sensation _ of the truffle in his mouth. The chocolate melted as it hit the heat of his tongue and gave, much as ripe pear-flesh gives, under his teeth. The cherry,  _ dripping _ with the sharpness of alcohol, enhancing all the rest of the flavors by comparison as all the flavors separated at that exact moment of bisection, and then melded into a beauteous harmony of taste and texture that soothed the sting of alcohol and left his palette sparking with the pleasure of it.

Aziraphale paused between one truffle and the next before coming to a decision. He sat up a little, rolled his shoulders, and between one moment and the next the room was filled to capacity with his wings and their luminescence. As human and mortal as the body he inhabited was, it didn’t quite come with wings as standard; while they were real in the way humans might find them tangible, they were still inherently ethereal and thus not bound by the physics of this plane of existence. But it felt good to have them out like this, fluffed for comfort and extended. Muscles that didn't  _ really _ exist in his back tightened and stretched luxuriously, making him feel a bit like a cat waking from a nap in a sunbeam to flex and arch his spine, shivering against the tethers of his mortal form and yawning like an abyss full of sharp teeth. 

He settled back down into the duvet, shifting from side to side to create a new groove for his wings to rest in. He sighed, a release of tension as much as an exhale, full-bodied and so heavy it left him feeling a stone lighter than before. Glancing down, Aziraphale popped another truffle into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. He was nearly finished with his book, 700 pages read out of about 1,100, and his thoughts were full of the prospect of rereading it as soon as he finished. Or if it would be better to wait a while first, so that he could catch any intricacies he might have missed the first time? 

The decision was handily taken from him by a soft gasp at the door leading to the stairs of the bookshop. 

"Crowley?" Aziraphale asked slowly, almost as if he were unsure what words were or, at least, how to speak them after having been so wrapped up in such satisfying solitude. 

"Angel," Crowley greeted, knocking on the frame of the doorway with a feigned nonchalance betrayed by the tightness in his voice. "Suppose you're trying to convince me hedonism doesn't suit you, hm?"[3]

Aziraphale only raised an eyebrow at that and said nothing, though he hid the twitch of his lips at the rake of Crowley's eyes across his wings—which were still splayed wide for Aziraphale's pleasure[4]—with another mouthful of wine from a glass that refilled with little more than a thought. 

* * *

[3] Crowley, of course, fully approved of Hedonism and was very proud to be one of the oldest recorded examples of it. Perhaps it wasn’t a favorite time in his life, [that meeting with Gilgamesh](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22467310/chapters/53752570), but the thought still rang true. He had told Gilgamesh “Fill your belly with good things; day and night, night and day, dance and be merry, feast and rejoice […] make your spouse happy in your embrace; for this too is the lot of Man."

[4] Having one's wings out in this day and age is quite a bit like walking around naked in one’s own home, very vulnerable to a certain extent but immensely satisfying and freeing.

* * *

" _ Someone,  _ angel." Crowley stepped further into the room unbidden, his gaze hot over the rim of his dark glasses. "You can't just do this to me." 

Aziraphale was laid out on the bed and propped up, looking the very definition of comfort sans his usual waistcoat and braces, prepared for nothing more than an indolent evening. The only thing missing to complete the picture, in Crowley’s mind, was the breezy drape of cloth that Rome had perfected. And perhaps a lounging chair instead of a bed. 

"I'm not doing much of anything, let alone to you." Aziraphale snipped back. 

"No, you do quite a lot, sitting there. Licking your lips, looking like Roman nobility at the height of indulgence." 

Crowley stopped just by the side of Aziraphale's bed, his hands perfectly still at his sides, but eyes wide and golden. Absently, Aziraphale likened them to the bubbling, molten turmoil within a crucible. With glasses removed and folded carefully into a shirt pocket, the image was complete, the slag extracted so only the purest of gold remained. 

"Perhaps." And there was quite a lot in that perhaps. They both knew that  _ perhaps _ intimately, and that it really entailed an ever-growing list of possibilities. 

Aziraphale met Crowley's eyes and blinked deliberately before turning his attention back to his book and wine and truffles. He ignored Crowley’s slight whimper as he took another bite, holding half the truffle between his finger and thumb, letting the rum drip down his fingers to his wrist before licking the rest of the morsel into his mouth. He hummed his pleasure, and trailed his tongue after the mess. He ignored Crowley’s ragged breathing as he took another sip of wine, sighing lightly into it as he drank. And he certainly ignored the burning of Crowley’s eyes on his body as he delicately turned the page and continued to read on. 

Crowley groaned loudly and fell to his knees on the hardwood with a dull thunk, gripping at the fluffed fabric bunched on the bed. "Angel,  _ please _ ." He moaned, looking up at the divine creature sprawled out on the bed, the very picture of Sloth and Gluttony. And perhaps even Pride, with that smug, self-satisfied look on his face. Crowley was only a poor demon unable to deny such a temptation, and surely this was torture. 

"Please what?" Aziraphale asked lightly. 

In response Crowley laid a hand on Aziraphale’s ankle and squeezed once before lightening his grip to nothing. His jaw was slack as he looked over Aziraphale’s form, and he licked his lips when they made eye contact. 

" _ What _ , Crowley? I am  _ attempting _ to read." Aziraphale asked, firmer this time, and sounding not unlike a much-beleaguered professor who had no time for such foolishness. 

"Let me help. Please. Let me put my wicked tongue to use. To serve you," Crowley breathed, his words all too familiar. All the things Aziraphale liked to hear most, and all the longing Crowley had in him scrounged up for display. It had been a long time since either of them felt the need to be disingenuous or embarrassed around the other, even for this. 

In lieu of an answer, Aziraphale only spread his ankles apart further and Crowley hummed a high note of delight, diving in to lay on the bed and reaching forward to begin the arduous journey of relieving Aziraphale of his vestments. Aziraphale turned the page of his book.

Crowley’s deft fingers made quick work of the buttons of his trousers, flicking them undone and greedily pulling the fabric down until it bunched at Aziraphale’s thighs. Briefly, he thought about undoing the shirt as well, glad that the angel had foregone the waistcoat and braces, before deciding against it. There was something particularly lewd and obscene about the thought of pleasuring Aziraphale while he was still half-dressed. He pulled down the cotton underpants that always made him scoff a little—only on the inside—to reveal quite a bit of smooth flesh. 

“ _ Angel _ , nothing,  _ really? _ ” Crowley whined, flicking his eyes up at Aziraphale. It wasn’t like it was unexpected, but there was a bit of a script, the approved back-and-forth, and Crowley would be  _ blessed _ if he didn’t play along. It simply meant he’d have to… up the ante.[5]

* * *

[5] While angels and demons were inherently sexless and genderless, they could customize their corporations with just a twist and a flick of the magics (occult or otherwise) that circuited in their bodies. It wasn’t even considered an expenditure of power by most, and simply a reassertion of what the reality of a mud-and-clay based body[6] was meant to be. But, if they hadn’t chosen to make such an effort, it didn’t mean the nerve endings and everything else that came along with such things didn’t exist.

Crowley had found, over the course of some experimentation, that on occasion it was even easier to stimulate sensitive skin brimming with sensory neurons than it was genitalia. He had, of course, made sure to test his findings out on Aziraphale plenty of times, with his tongue and mouth and his hands. In the name of science.

[6] In the beginning, well, the  _ Beginning _ beginning, when Adam and Eve were first made (and Lillith too, if you believed in it) they were created from adamah, or earth. This meant that, naturally, everyone else followed suit. Things were far easier to make when you had a pattern at the ready and neither angel nor demon thought to build their own, though plenty customized it (some quite poorly, in fact).

* * *

Aziraphale, of course, didn’t bother to acknowledge him at all except to tilt his hips just enough that Crowley could remove his clothing and to turn another page in his book. Jutting his chin out stubbornly, Crowley huffed and divested the thick thighs and strong legs of their clothing, tossing it over his shoulder, though carefully clear of the hearth at his back.

He leaned down and nosed at the expanse of skin between Aziraphale’s thighs, letting his hands and fingers trail lightly over legs and knead at hips until goosebumps raised on Aziraphale’s corporation in an involuntary reaction. They’d played this game before, starting out with nothing and being goaded, tempted, into manifesting something to relieve the ache of arousal, full-body and directionless without anywhere for it to focus. It was one of Crowley’s favorites, if he were ever to be honest about it. 

There was just something about getting an angel—getting Aziraphale—worked up enough that he was forced to materialize something beyond the generic sexlessness of angels, or be overcome with lust and desire. It never really mattered whether Crowley won or lost the game, he counted himself a winner in the end. Considering Azirpahale’s current mood, it seemed unlikely that the tables would turn and see Crowley slammed into the bed and teased within an inch of his life, but one could never be sure. Stranger things had happened.

Crowley’s tongue was wide and flat as he licked up from the apex of Aziraphale’s thighs and scraped his teeth over sensitive skin, still brimming with nerve endings despite the lack of easily accessible nerve clusters. He took his time, was happy to, and explored Aziraphale’s body with warm hands and a tireless tongue, alternating between lips and teeth as he bit and sucked bruises into soft skin, then soothed them with his tongue before moving on.

Eventually Aziraphale’s breathing hitched, just once, before it was forced back to its usual cadence. He smiled, pleased to realize he hadn’t heard a page turn in a while.  _ Good _ . He redoubled his efforts and started to whisper loving, sappy filth against Aziraphale’s flesh with every bruise and bite and kiss.

“My one and only, my angel on high,” Crowley sighed with a grin, enjoying the minute trembling of Aziraphale’s thighs and the way he refused to acknowledge Crowley otherwise. 

“O my Angel, I love thee above all things.” he continued, his grin turning wicked at the faint sting of blasphemy on the tip of his tongue, tasting like fiery honey, “with my whole heart and soul, because thou art all good and worthy of all love.”

Aziraphale’s hips twitched and a page turned deliberately, louder than normal, causing Crowley to huff a soft laugh and continue with his prayer, an invocation to his angel. “I love myself for the love of Thee. I forget all who have injured me,”[7] he continued on, drawing out every word and syllable until it was unbearably hot on his lips.

Crowley grinned wide and placed deliberate kisses on the bruises he’d sucked into Aziraphale’s hips and inner thighs. He took his time to lavish affection over each and moaned softly at the heady thought that Aziraphale let him—happily, at that—ravish him with his love and attention in all the ways he knew best, “And I ask thine pardon for all thine injuries, angel.” Crowley finished throatily, voice husky and raw.

Aziraphale shuddered and gasped softly under his breath. Crowley peppered kisses along Aziraphale’s hips, making pleased noises as he went. And then down between his thighs in glad thanks for the well-made creation that was Aziraphale’s body, relenting to his pleasure. Just this once, of course. 

“Wily serpent,” Aziraphale groaned with a soft sigh, melting into Crowley like the chocolate truffles had melted in his mouth.

“God,” Crowley breathed, his eyes wide and his gaze possessive in a way he couldn’t help, as he let slip from his lips the constant, accidental prayer to the Almighty on loop in his head, tongue and lips not even yet cooled from his blasphemy, “I love him. For all his flaws, I love him more.”[8]

* * *

[7] The Act of Love prayer, which Aziraphale particularly enjoyed. Crowley, of course, particularly enjoyed blaspheming in the bedroom with Aziraphale’s favorite prayers, in hopes he’d get hot and bothered later on when he thought of them next. It worked about half the time.

[8] Crowley wasn’t entirely sure if he’d meant to pray that, or start it with an address to God, but it was done now and that was that. He hadn’t been afraid to pray from some centuries now, since it was obvious God didn’t seem to mind his cheeky yelling. Or, more likely, didn’t bother to hear it. But even if She didn’t listen, he couldn’t quite help the thanks that welled in him for Aziraphale and Aziraphale alone.

* * *

His hands roamed the length of Aziraphale’s thighs, leaving no inch of flesh untouched with his adoring palms. His lips, traitors though they were, descended and pressed his unnatural love into Aziraphale’s hips, and he forgave them only because they came in contact with Aziraphale, and he could hate no thing that made his angel sigh like that.

His hands moved of their own volition to Aziraphale’s waist and Crowley leaned down on the bed so that he could lay between Aziraphale’s legs as he was meant to, every slow breath he took hot on the angel’s inner thighs. Aziraphale hummed low in his throat and Crowley’s eyes snapped up to meet his. Crowley’s hands stuttered in their exploration of Aziraphale’s sides for only a moment. It felt like an entire conversation passed between them and Crowley felt like he was almost floating, able to act on all the things he wanted to give Aziraphale if only he would permit it. 

And now he was.

Crowley wrapped his arms underneath Aziraphale’s thighs and hooked his knees over his shoulders, spreading him wide. His hands trembled, but his fingers pressed into soft curves of flesh as he licked up to the apex of Aziraphale, and moaned like all his dreams had come true at once. In a way they had. 

Aziraphale breathed in deeply; he didn’t need to, but the rush of oxygen was always a treat and, well, he was enjoying himself. He happily shifted to burrow his shoulders deeper into the plush duvet. Supported by the pile of pillows he reclined on, he made no effort to chase the pleasures of Crowley’s tongue on him, happy to sit back and let the demon do the lion’s share of the work. Or all of it, really. 

Aziraphale was indulgent at heart. He had indulged in so many things, in food and drink and live performances, and most of all he had indulged in  _ sensation _ . Why else would God Almighty give these finicky bodies so many nerve endings and neural pathways, if She hadn’t wanted them to be  _ indulged _ in?

“Oh,” Aziraphale sighed as Crowley twisted his tongue between his legs in a particularly wicked way and Aziraphale gave into the pleasure that melted the bones right out of him, until he was a puddle of an angel happily spread out on soft sheets and cushions. “Oh  _ Crowley _ ,” he breathed softly, barely more than a whisper, but it drew an answering moan from Crowley.

Aziraphale breathed in again and reveled, his hips rocking slightly; half from some bodily instinct Aziraphale made no effort to control and half due to Crowley’s ever-changing grip on his thighs as he devoured Aziraphale in hopes of making him sigh again. Aziraphale was happy to oblige him. He let himself sigh and moan, whispering all the ways Crowley was pleasing him so well. A small reward for a very good, very wicked demon.

He gasped when Crowley removed one of his hands from Aziraphale’s thighs to tease at his arse with sodden fingers. Whimpered when Crowley pressed into him, searching slowly for the certain spot within that would enhance his pleasure even more. A low, earthly moan rumbled through Aziraphale’s chest as he closed his eyes and let his head fall back, basking in the sheer overwhelming sensations of the flesh Crowley could always inspire in him. 

The book in Aziraphale’s hand slid shut with no care or worry for saving his page—he’d gladly find it again later—as he let it drop to the bed from his grasp and moved his hands up to clench in the duvet bunched around his neck. Aziraphale sighed again and his breath hitched as Crowley twisted his tongue in a way that was certainly unique to him alone and another moan dripped from his lips. Aziraphale’ back arched in a luxuriant stretch and his head was thrown back with a silent moan as the formless pleasure stirred up within him peaked as best it could.

Crowley pulled back and pressed soothing strokes of his hands over Aziraphale’s thighs and hips, letting him bask in the afterglow. A literal glow, if he were being honest, Aziraphale’s skin emitted a soft golden light in his pleasure and, just like always, the thought rose unbidden to Crowley’s mind,  _ What would it take to stain myself with this? _ [9]

* * *

[9] As it turns out, not a lot, just a bit of perseverance (or love, whichever). But that’s spoilers.

* * *

Aziraphale was the quiet type, generally, especially when he was latched onto something he found interesting he could happily bury himself in the books about it or the act of it for days at a time without saying a word at all. Oh, he  _ could _ be loud and talkative, usually after a few bottles of wine, or could be prompted to speak with a certain ease—if your name was Crowley—but it wasn’t his natural state. Aziraphale was, above all else, an observer rather than a  _ wonderer _ . But when he got like this, he disliked speaking immensely, preferring for Crowley to take the lead and give him the pleasure he liked and wanted.

Luckily for Crowley, he knew very well where any silent boundaries lay and how best to give his angel what he wanted. He flicked his fingers and carefully pulled at the ethereal magics housed in Aziraphale’s body. If the angel had resisted even the slightest to this, it would have left Crowley with holy burns where his form touched Aziraphale’s, but he didn’t and Crowley was more than happy to take that as the permission it was. Crowley shaped Aziraphale’s flesh into something he could stimulate better and pull pleasure from. 

It was cheating, a bit, but what good was the things they could do if they couldn’t cheat a bit, and what good was having a demon around if they wouldn’t do the cheating for you? [10]

* * *

[10] Crowley was well aware that Aziraphale was always happy for the excuse not to be the one to do the miracle or move atoms around if there was anything possibly  _ untoward _ or frivolous about it, not when Crowley was around, and he did so endeavor to be around these days. And so, it quickly became just another part of their Arrangement, that Crowley would pull the frivolous miracles that he could write down as an expense write off for a temptation. Not that either of them had to fill quotas or write reports anymore.

* * *

Crowley licked from Aziraphale’s perineum, along a dripping slit, and moaned under his breath when his lips sealed over the clit at the top. His tongue, split in the middle and thin, laved attention over the bundle of nerves even as he gently worked his fingers into Aziraphale’s arse to find the prostate. It didn’t serve much of a purpose than pleasure in a configuration like this, and with how Aziraphale was panting out little moans at his attentions, Crowley didn’t much think he minded. 

Aziraphale rocked his hips up against Crowley’s mouth and gasped when long, thin fingers unerringly found his prostate to rub in time with the movements of Crowley’s tongue on his clit. Aziraphale relaxed further into the duvet, letting one foot slip off the side of the bed and Crowley’s shoulder and his legs fall open, spreading wide, allowing Crowley more room. With a grin and a purposefully rough lick, Crowley leaned in further and added a third finger into Aziraphale.

The angel moaned softly and turned his head to the side to nuzzle against the softness of the duvet, sighing lightly as Crowley did his best to pull more and more sounds from him, with quite a bit of success. Crowley licked into Aziraphale, thumbing firm circles over his clit with his free hand and curling his fingers to scrape the tips over his prostate. Aziraphale’s back arched and he breathed heavily, his moans growing higher in pitch and less and less audible to the human ear the more Crowley’s tongue widened to better fuck him with. 

Aziraphale’s thighs trembled with his second orgasm—certainly a lovely built-in feature of this particular configuration.  _ He gasped very prettily _ , Crowley thought with a grin, happily pinning Aziraphale by his hips with one hand as he soothed the oversensitivity with the flat of his tongue, licking up every drop of Aziraphale’s pleasure.

“How ya doin’, angel?” Crowley rasped, tongue swiping over his lips and his eyes hungrily watching his fingers slowly slide out of Aziraphale. “Think you can manage one more for now? Will you let me fuck you?” he asked roughly, forcing his voice not to waver.

“Mhm,” Aziraphale raised an eyebrow at Crowley and smiled coyly. 

“How about two then, once more with my hands and mouth and another on my cock, hm?” Crowley shot back, grin wide and cocky. “I bet I can make you cum in the next ten minutes if you’ll  _ deign _ to sit in my lap.”

Aziraphale pursed his lips and looked to the side, like he was thinking about it and Crowley couldn’t feel the spike of desire in him like a bloody polygraph test. 

“Come on, angel, I’ll make you feel good,” Crowley tempted, crawling up on the bed and deftly undoing all of the buttons on Aziraphale’s shirt, pulling it off along with the vest top underneath and tossing it to the foot of the bed, leaving Aziraphale fully bare before him. 

Crowley kissed up Aziraphale’s stomach to his sternum, flicking his tongue over a nipple, and nipping gently at his neck while pressing up against the backs of Aziraphale’s thighs with his own. He rolled his hips against Aziraphale’s to show him just how much he liked seeing him get off on his hands and mouth. 

“We can sit against the headboard, angel, I’ll pull you up against my chest and you can lean on me while I groom your wings until you’re  _ shivering _ in my lap, and then I’ll bounce you on my cock until I feel you cum again.” Crowley murmured against Aziraphale’s neck as he dragged his hand up and down Aziraphale’s side, kneading at his hips and ribs and delighting in the handfuls of angel he was so casually allowed to touch.

Electricity shot up Crowley’s spine and gripped at him with Lichtenberg fingers as a wave of  _ want _ washed over him from Aziraphale. He groaned and panted, resting his forehead against Aziraphale’s shoulder for a half-second to pull himself together. 

“Fuck,  _ fuuck _ ,” Crowley whined through a clenched jaw, unable to keep his teeth from sharpening in his mouth at the potent arousal that spread through him, love and lust intermingling in him until one was hardly knowable from the other, and Aziraphale moaned softly at the inundation of love from the demon above him. 

With a thought, Crowley slipped behind Aziraphale, his back flat against the headboard of the bed and he pulled Aziraphale into his lap, hooking his own legs underneath Aziraphale’s to keep them splayed wide. Aziraphale’s wings were spread wide still and Crowley’s chest fit comfortably between the angel’s shoulder blades when he leaned in to nip teasingly at the side of Aziraphale’s neck.

“Fuck, Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed reverently, as if he had a finite amount of heartbeats and inhalations available to him before the clock hit midnight and he wouldn’t have this anymore. It wasn’t true, he knew, but he couldn’t help being careful about it just in case. 

“Angel, you’re killing me, just look at you.” 

Crowley’s hands wrapped around Aziraphale’s waist, holding him tight to his body before raising his hands to play with his nipples, rolling them between his fingers and reveling in every hitch of Aziraphale’s breath and every unconscious cant of his hips. 

“Bless it, you’re perfection incarnate, so beautiful I could cry, you know that, angel? If I could live between your thighs I would, worship you the way you deserve, until you can’t remember your own name.” Crowley whispered between hot, open-mouthed kisses all over Aziraphale’s neck and shoulders. 

He waited until Aziraphale exhaled with a shudder at the erotic thought of Crowley worshipping at Aziraphale’s altar and bit into the angel’s shoulder roughly, sucking a bruise into perfect, soft skin at the same time he raked his nails down Aziraphale’s chest. 

“I love you.” Crowley whispered, his breath catching in his chest as Aziraphale slumped against him, relaxing impossibly further in his arms. Crowley pressed gentle kisses to the side of Aziraphale’s face and down the side of his throat again, behind his ear and at the nape of his neck.

“You’re the sun, angel.” [11]

Crowley removed his hands from Aziraphale’s chest, smirking at the whine that was cut off by a moan when Crowley dragged his thumbs along the humerus of Aziraphale’s wing, and spread his hands over the muscles. His hands were heated with a miracle far hotter than comfortable for a human, but on angelic wings would feel  _ divine _ as he worked the heat into every muscle along the length of the wings he could reach. 

“You’re the sun,” Crowley repeated throatily and kept his demonic senses open to Aziraphale’s pleasure, lingering in places that made his hips instinctively shift in Crowley’s lap and pulled tantalizing groans from Aziraphale’s throat. 

“The source of every bright thing, reflected in the moon and more precious to me than all the stars in the cosmos. You’re the light in my chest that’s replaced my heart, angel. Irreplaceable, beloved beyond all measure.” 

He paid some moderate amount of attention to the feathers themselves, righting them and brushing his fingers through them to straighten the barbs until they clumped together, but much preferred to linger on areas where he could get at the skin with teasing touches and massage the muscles until they were putty in his hands. 

“Aziraphale, angel.” Crowley punctuated his words with kisses to Aziraphale’s jaw. “You are  _ crucial _ to me. Of highest distinction in my life, venerated and cherished. Treasured and worthy of all my adoration, and more than I am capable of, but I’ll give to you anyway if you ask it of me, angel.”

* * *

11] “You’re the sun” sounded dangerously close to “what light through yonder window breaks” but Aziraphale made poets of plenty of men, Crowley was simply his latest victim. Or longest, perhaps. Even if he was no good at poetry.

* * *

Crowley didn’t mind slow, like this, focusing all his attention on his angel and heaping all the pleasures of the earth upon him until Aziraphale was writhing in his arms and whining with every breath. 

“Crow–  _ Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale gasped, baring his throat as his head fell back, pressing into Crowley’s shoulder, trembling through a smaller orgasm than before, but untouched except by Crowley’s hands on his wings, lips on his neck, and words in his ear.

“Delectable, angel, you’re  _ perfect _ .” Crowley moaned, voice tight and straining to keep himself under control for Aziraphale. 

With a low growl his hands fell from Aziraphale’s wings and he removed his own clothing with a determined thought, unwilling to move Aziraphale off his lap except to fuck him on the erection previously trapped by his tight jeans.

“Angel,” Crowley whined, breathing heavily as he let his forehead drop to Aziraphale’s shoulder, “You can’t  _ do _ this to me, fuck!” The wetness from Aziraphale’s arousal and latest climax dripped down his thighs and onto Crowley’s. One of Crowley’s hands crept down to the apex of Aziraphale’s legs and he drew two fingers through the slit and settled on Aziraphale’s clit, rubbing slow and teasing. 

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said sternly under his breath, rolling his hips up against his demon’s hand only to keen softly at the loss of pressure. 

“Ah-ah, angel,” Crowley murmured with a wide grin before biting down gently on his shoulder. “I promised I’d have you coming on my cock this time, and I don’t make you promises I’m not willing to keep.” 

A rumbling growl reverberated in Aziraphale’s chest and Crowley yelped when the angel reached back over his shoulder to fist his hand in Crowley’s hair at the base of his skull. 

“Alright,  _ alright! _ ” Crowley moaned wantonly and his hips bucked up against Aziraphale’s arse. 

He wrapped his own hands around Aziraphale’s hips and lifted him up onto his knees, angling the both of them until he could lower Aziraphale slowly onto his cock inch by excruciatingly slow inch. Aziraphale’s suddenly ragged breathing yanked a desperate moan out of Crowley and he had to stop Aziraphale’s hips from moving at all to force his scattered wits back together long enough to make good on his promise.

Crowley lifted Aziraphale slowly, rocking his own hips up to meet every downstroke of Aziraphale’s body and abandoning any attempt to seem unaffected. There was no way in Hell he’d be able to feign apathy in the face of Aziraphale’s unrelenting, overwhelming desire hitting him like the tides breaking upon a cliff face. He only managed a few strokes like this before Aziraphale huffed and pushed Crowley’s hands off his hips and pulled off of him with a groan only to turn around to face him, his wings held high to pass over Crowley’s head[12], and sink back down on his cock.

* * *

[12] The tips of Aziraphale’s feathers brushed Crowley’s forehead and for some reason he couldn’t help but think about how swans defend their territory and how it might be fun to get their wings involved in a bit of defense-and-attack-and-maybe-some-chase roleplay… later.

* * *

“Fuck, angel!” Crowley’s head fell back against the headboard with a dull thunk and his hands dug into Aziraphale’s hips, grinding them down until he was as deep as he could be in his angel.

“So you said,” Aziraphale replied, somehow prim and fussy even with how throaty and raw his voice was. “But I’m still not seeing it.”

Crowley gasped. “You dare impugn my honor!” He bucked his hips and smirked at Aziraphale’s answering moan. “Those're _fightin'_ _words_ , angel. You should know that I don’t let challenges against my good name go unpunished.”

Aziraphale only raised an eyebrow at Crowley, the haughty look on his face quickly melted into bliss when Crowley moved a foot to the floor for leverage and snapped his hips up into Aziraphale. The angel’s eyes fell closed and mouth opened in a near-silent moan, his hands finding purchase on Crowley’s shoulders to keep from falling forward into him.

“That’s it, angel,” Crowley hummed, “let yourself go, one more time, let me take you there.” 

Crowley kept one hand on Aziraphale’s hips and the other moved up to his back between the base of his wings, firmly pressing fingers into the shoulder blades and the space between, massaging at one particular spot that always made Aziraphale go a bit boneless. 

Crowley set a rough pace with the additional leverage and fucked up into Aziraphale, who he could feel trembling beneath his hands for the effort of keeping himself upright, and his thighs quivering around Crowley’s hips. Every nerve was alight where Aziraphale touched him and the rhythm he’d set stuttered as he careened closer and closer to his own orgasm, when finally Aziraphale’s back tensed underneath his hand and his entire body clamped down on Crowley, throbbing around his cock in hot pulses.

“Fuck, Crowley!” Aziraphale moaned lowly, causing Crowley’s hips to buck once more as he spilled himself inside Aziraphale, and the angel laid down on top of him, leaking his beautiful, pleasured glow all over the place. 

To Crowley, it was absolute, hedonistic perfection. Aziraphale would, of course, agree.

“You liked the truffles I got you, then?” Crowley asked with a smile, more than glad to bask in the warmth of his angel spread out over him like the best sort of blanket, his wings folded haphazardly on top of them both, keeping them pleasantly warm far better than anything else could.

“Mhm, yes.” Aziraphale hummed lazily, tilting Crowley’s head with a hand on the back of his neck to meet his lips for a kiss. “I do think I might, especially if they come with you on the side.”

Crowley laughed, a short, genuine thing, and kissed Aziraphale again.

“Anything you like, angel. Just say the word.” 

“The word.” Aziraphale replied, without missing a beat. 

He smiled beatifically, and Crowley laughed again, snuggling into the duvet underneath them filled with angel feathers and reeking of Love, and stained for now with a bit of angelic glow. He pulled Aziraphale tight to his chest, and happy beyond mortal measure, sure his heart would burst with all this joy if he didn't. 

"Alright then, anything you like it is."

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me in a couple of places!
> 
> Twitter: <https://twitter.com/Great_Ass_aFire>  
> Tumblr: <https://d20owlbear.tumblr.com/>
> 
> All my graphics/photomanips are there plus you can find updates on anything if you send me an ask or message! I also take graphic/banner/emoji requests and writing prompts/requests.


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